By Choice
by gator-md
Summary: July CBPC Brennan is at a crossroads...


Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me. Just for fun…

A/N: July CBPC entry

She really hadn't thought he had left for good and was determined to take care of herself until he returned. A nosy neighbor, who noticed the lack of adult supervision, reported her situation to family services. When a police car pulled into the driveway, she was sure they coming with news about her parents. Her hopes were dashed when an unmarked sedan pulled up behind the police car. From it emerged a sedately attired woman of about forty five clutching a battered briefcase. The officer joined her and they walked up the path to the front door.

When she heard the doorbell ring, she debated pretending not to be home, but knew it would only postpone the inevitable. Resolutely, she pulled open the front door. She didn't speak, unwilling to offer any information in case she had misread the situation. The woman introduced herself as Edith Heatherington, case worker with the Department of Family Services. The simple introduction was enough to make her realize for the first time that the remnants of her old life, which she had been clinging to, had somehow slipped through her grasp. She was no longer Temperance Brennan, daughter of Matt and Christine, now she was Temperance Brennan, ward of the state. The distinction was clear in her mind. All that was synonymous with family and belonging were lost to her as she became just another case file to some overworked state employee.

Ms. Heatherington's actions did nothing to convince Temperance she was wrong. She'd been a social worker for almost twenty-five years. During that time the atrocities parents inflicted upon their children had slowly sapped away the idealism and compassion, which had drawn her to the field in the first place. Now instead of hoping to reunite families, she simply prayed nothing too horrific happened to the children she placed. She had long since learned to distance herself from the children assigned to her. It was a matter of self-preservation.

Looking at the young girl, she could see intelligence and a spark of willful defiance shining in her eyes. Hoping she wasn't too smart for her own good, Edith began her rote questioning about the whereabouts of her parents. The teenager stubbornly refused to answer. The set of the girl's shoulders, clenched jaw, and balled fists told Edith all she needed to know. With a resigned sigh, she asked the officer to accompany Temperance so that she could pack a few things. While her charge packed, Edith reviewed the short list of potential placements. Not very many foster parents were keen to open their homes to a teenage girl---too much temptation for the weak. Scanning the list, she realized that while Temperance would disagree, today was her lucky day---the Doyles had a room for her. It would be a temporary placement, but perhaps Temperance would be one of the lucky ones---maybe her parents would come back for her. Edith immediately squelched the thought, because the reality was that they probably wouldn't---parents don't just disappear.

BONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONESBONES 

Her case worker had tried to reassure her that being placed with the Doyles was a good thing, but only the fact that she had to leave everything she knew resonated. She had never expected to feel anything but resentment for the people charged to watch over her. She knew they received funding from the state, but the whole family went out of their way to make her feel comfortable. There was no awkward questioning about how a girl like her had ended up in the system, just acceptance that sometimes bad things happen to good people. She had known from the outset that her time with them was limited, so to protect herself she held back, not wanting to open herself to anymore hurt or disappointment. Her parent's disappearance and Russ's abandonment had taught her the consequences of caring too much. The Doyles respected her self-imposed isolation and, in turn, she respected them, but she wouldn't allow herself to feel anything more. She couldn't---wouldn't---risk it.

As she surveyed what the Doyles called "her" room, she realized with some surprise that it actually felt like "her" room now that she was leaving. She was more attached to the room than to the family. Though the bedroom showed the wear and tear of its occupants' transient existence, it was obvious care had been taken to provide each a sense of home and belonging. Pictures capturing infrequent smiles and glimpses of ordinary life were displayed around the room. Worn books and carefully mended toys lined a scarred bookshelf. A snapshot of her parents smiled back at her each time she looked in the mirror where she had tucked it into the frame. Her bulging backpack leaned against the dinged dresser. Freshly folded laundry sat at the foot of her bed waiting to be put away. She knew without looking her shoes were just inside the closet next to the suitcase she was supposed to be packing.

Instead she sat down at the wooden desk that was a testament to all of the foster children that had sat in her place. The Doyles understood each child's need to leave a mark---something permanent and enduring in their uncertain world. She opened the top desk drawer to find the small Swiss Army knife she'd seen when she first unpacked. At first she had scoffed at their negligence, but she soon realized its purpose. Now that she was leaving, she, too, felt the need to leave evidence of her stay---her existence.

Using the knife, she deliberately and painstakingly carved her name into the wooden desktop. Her name was so long some of the letters intersected with those of other children long since gone. When she was finished, she lightly traced the names with her fingertip. The edges of her name were still sharp, but others were smooth and worn. She wondered what had happened to them. How had this first experience with the system shaped who they had become? Did it define them? Would it define her? She already felt disconnected from the world happening around her and this was only her first placement. She had consciously held herself back from the family she had lived with for the last two months and now that she was leaving, she wondered if it had been the right decision. She was now alone by choice rather than circumstance. Would the Doyles see her name in years to come and struggle to remember who she was because she had chosen a solitary path? Running her fingers over her name pausing at the intersections, she wondered if the only connections she would have with people were those made inadvertently. It seemed the safer choice. By not allowing anyone to get too close, she wouldn't be disappointed when they inevitably let her down. It had worked with the Doyles. It would work in the future.


End file.
